


remorse

by arcadelightning



Series: robot cave series [1]
Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Cave Johnson Believes In Greek Gods, Gen, a cave centric fic, aaalso this may get a sequel, also everyone is like. a sort of object head?, also this is cave cube so, and for this bastard being depressed, so if you dont like him dont read this, somebody else please use that tag i am BEGGING you, this is like, warning for some suicidal ideation, what i mean is. cube head cave.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25837360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadelightning/pseuds/arcadelightning
Summary: Cave is stuck in Old Aperture, rotting as a robot. He has some thoughts while he's waiting for death to take him.
Series: robot cave series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880455
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	remorse

Water dripped from a pipe somewhere. Cave sat, his legs tucked up in front of him, so that he was balled up. Once again, he wished he could die. It wasn't fair! He was trapped down here while a usurper – someone he'd _trusted_ – ruled HIS facility! She had her eternal reward, now where was his? Where were the chariots to spirit him away to Elysium? Where was Thanatos to reap his immortal soul? He gave a yank to the cord protruding from the small of his back, and was shocked. Hard. He yelped in pain, then lapsed back into silence. The stupid scientists had forgotten him down here. Forgot their own boss. Or maybe they hadn't forgot. Maybe they'd left him down here on purpose! It'd make sense. Damn wimps couldn't handle a little bit of being berated and yelled at. A traitorous voice that sounded a lot like Her whispered in his head. _"Well, Mr. Johnson, I don't think you'd like to be constantly a target of aggression, would you?"_ And he found himself agreeing. If anyone tried yelling at him, he'd kick their ass out the door just like that! Oh. Wait.

He didn't know how long had passed by the time his mind drifted back around to that particular train of thought. How _did_ his employees feel about him? Now that he thought on it, he hadn't been the nicest boss. He'd dismissed all the casualties with a wave of his hand and a snap of "It's all for the greater good of Science!" He'd lash out about every little thing. He'd purposely picked out test subjects that wouldn't be missed. He... he'd been a terrible boss. And he lapsed back into silence again.

He stood, staring out the window that was within his reach. A simple view, just one of the Enrichment Spheres. And he thought again. His tests were good ones, right? They were professionally designed – by him. And that little traitorous voice that sounded so much like the woman he loved spoke again. _"No sir, Mr. Johnson. Your tests killed so many. And for what?"_ For what? He scoffed. For Science! But... the progression of Science didn't require so much pain and death, did it? He could have made non-lethal tests. And he didn't. He made them deadly, for his own amusement. So he could laugh while people suffered. And he felt a rising, sick repulsion in his throat, or whatever served as a throat now, in this robotic half-life. Why did he feel this way? What was this feeling? He'd never felt it before. He sat back down. He needed a rest.

When he powered back on from sleep mode, a crow was pecking at his face. How ironic. One of the most powerful men to exist, and now he was bird food. But maybe he deserved that? Deserved to be rotting on this floor, like how countless skeletons rotted under the surface of the calm water at the bottom of the enrichment shaft. That's where he'd told the lab boys to dump the bodies. _"Make sure nobody finds out. And if they do, you'll join the bodies on the cart. Got it?"_ Oh Zeus, he'd said that. He hadn't remembered before, but now his own voice looped that sentence in his head. Would the victims' families forgive him, he wondered? Probably not. He could live with that. Not in a "I-don't -care-what-they-think!" way, but in a way that made his chest feel all heavy and... weirdly content. At peace, almost. When he thought about Her, he felt that way, combined with a feeling that made him feel heavy and sick and bad. What was that feeling? He decided that maybe if he ruminated on it more, he'd find the answer.

Remorse. That was the name of the heavy-sick-bad feeling. Once upon a time, he'd thought that remorse was for other people. The weaklings. But not him! Not Cave Johnson! He gave a bitter laugh, startling the crow. It had built a nest on his desk. He rather liked the company. Sometimes he'd hobble over and lean on the desk, admiring the eggs. And sometimes he thought about how easily he could crush those eggs and wring their mother's neck like a washcloth, how he could get a little bit of control back in his life. And that made him feel remorseful, sorry for something he hadn't even done. How pathetic.

He wondered how She felt about him. She probably hated him. Scratch that, She definitely hated him, hated his guts, wanted him dead, wanted his metal corpse to be immolated, reduced to ash and then swept away into the nearest pit. And he was, surprisingly, fine with that. He didn't particularly care if She found him anymore. He didn't care if She killed him. It would be poetic in a way. He killed Her, so She'd kill him. Like something out of a Greek tragedy. If he could use one of these shitty computers to broadcast his coordinates to Her, he would. Let Her come, he thought.

Footsteps. How long had it been since he'd heard the sound of other people? Actually... they sounded clanking and robotic. So not people. Robots like him. But really, did he care anymore? It was company. And if they wanted to talk, that was fine. If they wanted to kill him, that was also fine.So he took his chances. He yelled "HEY! Over here!" He winced at the sound of his own voice, hoarse and robotically modulated. It barely sounded like him anymore. Yet the footsteps kept approaching. A singular blue eye cast it's light into the dark room. It warily scanned the room, and Cave stood, doing an admittedly terrible half-bow. A robot warily crept into the room, blue eye shining as it held an arm out, trying to protect the taller bot behind it, who's orange eye sparkled with curiosity. Cave chuckled, a weak and low sound. "Oh, no need for that. Stay on that side of the room, I can't even touch ya. Not that I would hurt ya. I'm too lonely and pathetic for that. Greetings, friends. The name's Cave Johnson."

A few months passed. The bots kept coming back. They didn't have names, he didn't think, but in his head he called them Blueberry and Tangerine, for the color of their eyes. They'd come, and stay for an hour or so, and he'd talk to them. They didn't seem to be able to speak, but they could communicate through chirps and beeps, and so they talked that way. He thought that after all this time, he might be picking up a bit of their language. He could sort of understand some of the meaning behind their squeaks sometimes, though reading their body language was sort of cheating. He supposed they must like him, if they kept coming back to listen to him ramble on and on about the heyday of Aperture and how great they'd been. Sometimes, though, he was in a more thoughtful mood, and he told them about how he'd fucked up over and over and about how ridiculously remorseful he felt. He didn't even know who they were, really. He was just glad to have someone to talk to.

A month later, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. And something new. A labcoat swishing. Maybe the bots had brought him a coat? He didn't know _why_ they'd do that, but it was a possibility. And then a harsh, yellow-orange light shone down on him, and he realized. It was Her. Disconnected from the chassis that let Her control the facility. Down here. In his office. She looked down at him with contempt. "Ah. Right where I knew you'd be." He realized. Those robots. They probably worked for Her. He'd led Her right to him. Which was, to be fair, exactly what he wanted. "You have a lot of nerve, not being dead." He sighed.

"Hello, GlaDOS. That- that is your name now, right?" She looked about to speak, but he cut Her off before She could. He didn't want to die without telling Her. "I've. I've been doing some thinking. And I realized how I feel about you. I- I am so sorry. I was a terrible boss, a terrible friend, and I am sorry. I know that's not going to cut it. I know that's not enough to warrant forgiveness. And I don't care. I don't deserve to be forgiven. I know that now."

She paused, before stalking over to him. She grabbed him around the throat and squeezed. And he didn't care. "You're right. You don't deserve forgiveness." And she grabbed the cord that sprouted from his back. And she pulled. Hard. And thus, Cave Johnson died.


End file.
